


for wisdom, they say

by uptillthree



Series: and living well [5]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (bc im shit at those), Canon-Typical Warnings, Gen, I Tried, Nicaise Lives, disclaimer theres not actually a lot of court scenes, nicaise is the youngest courtier who ever lived and every day he kills a man in court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 02:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11198127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uptillthree/pseuds/uptillthree
Summary: “They will stop underestimating you,” Laurent advises him, “when they see you make more solid movements in court. Pretty words are nice, but they simply don’t know what you’re capable of just yet.”Nicaise scowls. Being underestimated isn’t a bad thing strategically, but it grated.They wanted to see what he was capable of? Nicaise would show them.





	for wisdom, they say

**Author's Note:**

> this fic got so far away from me! it started with just bits i'd scrapped from the last nicaise fic, but then i wanted to put so many things in! (it got a bit political, nice) anyway this is kind of all over the place, but i hope you guys like it anyway? i also hope you don't mind,,...... the random oc i snuck in,,...... i apologize in advance.
> 
> and thanks so much for your support & comments on this series, it means so much to me <3 you guys are great.

i.

There are some courtiers, from both Akielos and Vere, without noble or royal blood. Vannes, for one, fought her way up the ranks with nothing but her own mind and daring, and Nikandros, too, served for years in the army and the Kingsmeet before becoming Kyros.

But— well. It isn’t quite the same.

None of the other courtiers have ever been _pets,_ or slaves.

Really, Nicaise thinks, he can keep studying strategy and mathematics and every subject under the sun, and Laurent can teach him sword fighting and statesmanship and all the things that will make him look, to any outward eye, like a true nobleman— and likely it wouldn’t _matter._

“They will stop underestimating you,” Laurent advises him, “when they see you make more solid movements in court. Pretty words are nice, but they simply don’t know what you’re capable of just yet.”

“Yeah?” Nicaise asks. “And you do?”

“Oh, yes. I rather think I do.” And then the king leaves, because he was always adamant on having the last word in any conversation.

Nicaise scowls. Being underestimated isn’t a bad thing strategically, but it grated.

He remembers that Laurent said, before, that he would _offer_ for Nicaise, after the Regent. But not to keep him in his bed. He realizes now that he hadn’t really believed that, at the time.

(Where did a pet belong, after all, if not in their master’s bed.)

But then Laurent had not offered for him: Laurent had given him security, instead, and then a place in the palace. And Nicaise still isn’t sure how long it will last, or what Laurent really wants from him. A lot, he’ll bet.

He doesn’t know how long he _has,_ in beautiful, strong Marlas. He doesn’t know what might happen, when it inevitably blows over.

So, clearly, he has to make the most he can out of it.

The council wanted to see what he was capable of? Nicaise would show them.

 

ii.

Very luckily, on the day Nicaise takes Harcourt riding, King Laurent has also ridden out to the market and would not return till dusk. Hopefully not till dusk.

“King Laurent’s not back yet,” the stable boy says curiously when Nicaise tells him to prepare two horses.

"I’m aware.”

The stable boy huffs, but he’s grinning gamely. His skin is a very light brown, and Nicaise can’t tell whether he’s Akielon or Veretian, but his hair is pale, like sand. “King Laurent told me not to let you go riding alone without permission.”

Nicaise smiles. “I’m also aware.” Harcourt flicks his gaze between the two of them, rapt. “I’ll give you a gold coin if—”

The stable boy makes a noise, biting his lip. “I don’t take _bribes.”_ He looks Nicaise over; Nicaise looks him over back. The boy can’t be more than a year older than him, and they’re about the same height, but the boy is strong-jawed, slightly wider around the shoulders. “Fine. But you’re covering for me if the King comes back early,” he says, still grinning, and goes to saddle the horses.

“I think he _likes_ you,” Harcourt says, too loudly. _"Disgusting._ Do you like him back?”

Nicaise can feel himself  _blushing. "No,"_  he says, tone vehement. “Go put on your gloves.”

 

iii.

“You’re not wearing the rubies,” Laurent remarks before the next council meeting.

Nicaise scowls. “Wouldn’t want a repeat of last week’s spectacle, would you?”

Laurent stares at him a moment, then, wordlessly, pulls open Nicaise's drawer and takes out the earrings. He drops them on the dresser. “Wear them, if you truly wish to. Or else you will be conceding to Herode.”

God _damn_ Herode. “You’re baiting me,” Nicaise says, but he puts them on. “It’s your fault. You never returned my sapphires.”

Laurent raises his eyebrows. “Well, after all, I won them fairly.”

“Fairly,” Nicaise echoes, tone flat. Laurent is smiling. “It’s probably rusting away in a jewelry box, you’d never wear it.”

Laurent tilts his head in mild interest. “Oh? Would you like me to?”

Nicaise laughs. Laurent is King now, and all the ambassadors will be present today. He wouldn’t. “Dare you to,” he says, just for the heck of it.

“Mm. In for a spectacle, in for a scandal,” says Laurent airily, and heads for his own rooms. Shocked into it, Nicaise is still laughing.

 

iv.

Afterwards, Damen laughs himself all the way out of the council hall. “The two of you,” he says, shaking his head. “Impossible.” But Nicaise saw how his gaze  followed Laurent for the entire meeting. Apparently, the King of Akielos could be devastated by a pair of sapphire earrings.

“Herode looked as if he would throw you out on sight,” Nikandros says, baffled. “I feared he’d challenge you to a duel.”

Nicaise snickered. “What? Herode in a duel of honor?”

“I can imagine,” Laurent murmured, shoulders shaking with laughter. The sapphires in his ear sway and catch the sunlight (Damen is staring very openly). “Dear me. He might have run me through with a sword he can barely carry.”

 

v.

“I’m tired of writing,” Harcourt says, leaning back and throwing the pen into the inkpot, sending splatters onto the parchment. He kicks his feet, knocking the chair across him. They’re lucky they’re the only ones in the library, because Laurent would have kicked them out ages ago. _"Nicaise."_

Nicaise sighs. Harcourt is impossible to work with, when he gets like this. And Nicaise can’t think either. Laurent is making him learn _Akielon,_ now. What a fucking disgrace. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Fuck off,” Harcourt laughs. “I was thinking… don’t _you_ ever think of mama and papa?”

Very slowly, Nicaise sets his own pen down. “No,” he says. “I don’t remember them.” It’s not a lie.

“Oh.” Harcourt frowns. “Well, I think— I’m not sure either, but. I think, I think they sold me?”

 _Of course they sold you, you fucking dimwit,_ Nicaise thinks, scowling. The window is open and there’s a breeze blowing through the curtains, but now the air in the library feels too hot, and Nicaise is burning up. He swallows.

He has to learn to talk about his old life without shouting _some_ day.

“Not Mama and Papa,” Harcourt prattles on. “I mean the missus at the orphanage. I remember one of his guards showing up there, and they made me go with him, but then, Mama was the one who left me at the orphanage in the first place—”

It’s almost worse, Nicaise thinks. When Nicaise was left at his orphanage he was a newborn. His mother had died from the birth. Not old enough to remember it or know any better.

“—and I thought I was going to _jail_ but the guard promised me I wasn’t, and then he explained the contract and I agreed and we went to the palace, so I met the Regent, and I thought, y’know, he was really nice, but…”

Nicaise has to learn to talk about the Regent without shouting someday, but right now, he can’t do anything but _listen._ Thankfully, at least, it’s all Harcourt seems to need; he talks enough for both of them, a story only people like Nicaise would be able to bear. Nicaise waits for him to finish, and then he begins his own.

 

vi.

To Nicaise’s annoyance and relief, Laurent brings up his own intention to change certain aspects of pet contracts before Nicaise can gather the nerve to even mention it in court. But perhaps that’s for the best, because when Nicaise seconds that idea, the murmurs in the court double in volume.

(More than three-quarters of the Veretian courtiers have pets.)

“How can you let him speak?” Councillor Chelaut says to the King. “After all, everyone knows he’s a pet— how can we say that he is equipped to debate these matters?”

“I’d say that would actually make me more equipped to debate them,” Nicaise quips. This isn’t the first time someone has questioned his right to be here, after all. He’s getting rather used to it. “Since I’ve seen the situation pets are dealing with firsthand.”

King Laurent waves a hand, as if to say: _Precisely. You see?_ (Which is more pleasing than Nicaise would like to admit.)

Chelaut flushes but, annoyingly, persists. “I am simply saying, Your Highness,” he says loftily. “This entire charade— I don’t know why you _allow_ — it is all an atrocious affair.”

“Is it?” asks King Damianos, eyebrows furrowed, chin resting on his fist. Unlike King Laurent, his sleeves only come up to his elbows. The gold cuff on his wrist is as eye-catching as the golden laurels on his head. Chelaut shuts his mouth.

“Thanks for telling me,” says Nicaise, his chest tight, “that you still see me as a pet. That says a few things about you, too, Councillor.”

 

vii.

“You didn’t have to interfere for me like that,” Nicaise snaps at King Damianos later that day. “I could have shut down Chelaut myself, without your help. _Exalted."_

Damen blinks, raises his eyebrows. “Of course. You still did, and Chelaut stayed unusually quiet for the rest of the meeting.”

In response, Nicaise’s glare only sharpens. _Because of you, you fucking idiot._

“Nicaise,” said the King, “I'd never try to fight your battles for you. It’s only that— I agree with you. I don’t like how there’s no limit for how young a pet can be, or that contracts exist at all.” For all Nicaise’s spite, Damen is, as always, irritatingly _earnest._

“I don’t care what you think,” Nicaise says. “Don’t—” _Don’t get in my way,_  he almost says, but he purses his lips. There are some things he’s not allowed to say to a King.

Damen snorts softly. “You have been steadily proving yourself in the court of Marlas day after day,” he says. “With or without my or Laurent’s help. What are you so angry at?”

That surprises him a little. _I’ve been ‘proving myself'?_  “It doesn’t matter,” he finds himself saying. “If it weren’t for Laurent I’d be thrown out of the palace in a second. I don’t have supporters in court, I don’t have anything to pay Laurent back, I can’t—”

“Pay Laurent back for what? Laurent giving you a place in the palace, and a chance in the court— that is not a debt,” Damen says firmly. “Not from Laurent.”

“Everything is a debt,” Nicaise sneers, and leaves without waiting to be dismissed.

 

viii.

Harcourt is the kind of child who will do anything to get away from lessons, and in all honesty, Nicaise is exactly the same kind. On a day where the wind blows too sweetly and the skies are too clear to stay indoors, he lets Harcourt drag him to the training area. Harcourt stops short when he hears the clanging of metal.

“Oh,” Nicaise scowls. “It’s occupied.” But he doesn’t look away from the sight of Nikandros and Damianos dueling fast and hard in the ring. They’re both grinning.

“No— there’s certainly room for the two of you!” Damen yells, lunging.

“Yes—” Nikandros catches Damen’s sword in a parry, retreating, “— feel free to— join us—” but Damen’s remise throws his sword into the air, and Nikandros groans, flat on his back in the dust. Damen lets out a triumphant _“ha!”_

“Rematch?” asks Damen gamely, still brandishing the sword, but Harcourt was already running into the ring.

“Duel me,” Harcourt says to Nikandros, eyes wide, practice sword held aloft. Nikandros, who was still on the ground, grinned.

“I can’t wait to see you get beaten up,” Nicaise calls to Harcourt, finding a seat on the outer ring of the area. He’s a little miffed when Damen decides to sit beside him, both of them watching Nikandros, who regards the younger boy with interest and takes one of the practice swords off the wall.

“Don’t get complacent,” Nikandros hollers to Nicaise. Harcourt looks excited. “You’re next.”

“Not on your life,” scowls Nicaise.

“I'll go easy on you.” A grin.

Damen laughs. Oh, both of them are _dead._ “I wouldn’t _need_ you to.” Nicaise crosses his arms. “I’ll duel you. After Harcourt.”

Harcourt and Nicaise both lose— spectacularly; of course— but afterwards Harcourt looks upon the training area with a childish determination that’s impossible to extinguish. Nikandros seems proud.

 

ix.

Too soon, Nicaise realizes the consequences of arguing with a man who quite likely shared everything with Laurent, including his bed. Laurent corners him in the library and requests to speak with him, as if Nicaise has the right to deny the King anything.

“Damen tells me you think you are _indebted_ to me,” Laurent says.

Damianos of Akielos is a tattletale and a _bitch._ Nicaise scowls and crosses his arms.

“Well, then.” Laurent claps his hands together once. “All right. You are entirely correct, and I have given you more than is necessary by giving you quarters in Marlas, and by making you a member of my court when you have done nothing to earn it.”

Laurent is being unusually straightforward, but this time it’s a relief. Nicaise sits back and awaits his price.

“Nicaise,” said Laurent, his voice very quiet, “the only thing you can _possibly_ do to repay your debt to me is to work hard in your studies, and to have all the fun a boy your age should have.”

Nicaise frowns. He runs through Laurent’s words five times over, searching for the pitfalls and realizing there were none.

“Oh,” he says, and it sounds very far away. When he meets Laurent’s eyes, they’re the most sincere Nicaise has ever seen them.

“All right?”

Nicaise breathes. “All right. I suppose.”

 

x.

Not so long ago, Nicaise knew every pet in the palace of Arles. He knew their agendas; they knew his. They’d been open to helping each other. There was a strange camaraderie in it, once.

Nicaise is not a pet anymore.

“I have to speak with you,” says Ancel, catching his sleeve. There’s an odd look in his eyes. “If you will. My _lord.”_

The title pulls the floor from beneath his feet. “I’m not— that.” Is he?

“You’re a _courtier.”_ The words come out bitter.

“What did you want to talk about?” Nicaise and Ancel are— not friends, but… acquaintances. To depend on. Or, they used to be.

“Is it true? The King wants to get _rid_ of pets? _You_ want that?”

“Did Mathe tell you that,” says Nicaise, deadpan.

“I just think it’s certainly convenient for you,” Ancel says, voice low and furious, “trying to get rid of pet contracts now that _you’re_ in the court. Your master died so now you’ve attached yourself to his _killer,_ is that it—”

“Not at all,” Nicaise says, forcing his voice into an airy tone and his fists to unclench. He’s a member of the court now. It will not do to punch Ancel in his pretty fucking face. “I’m not a pet anymore, just as you said. I have no contract.”

Ancel’s cheeks turn pink. “My contract with Mathe isn’t finished,” he hisses. “I— I don’t know what will happen, between Mathe and I. If there is no contract. If the contract becomes null.”

Oh. Nicaise understands. For Ancel, the contract is all he has. It had been that way for Nicaise, once. “It won’t be like that.”

His voice comes out low and almost gentle, and Ancel reacts to it like a cat thrown in water. “Like what?”

“I don’t know yet if Laurent wants to ban pet contracts completely. It might fall through. But— he’s planning to create an age limit for pets, and give them more rights for protection. If he _does_ demolish pet contracts, you’ll probably have some form of financial support until you can do it yourself.” As Nicaise says it, he realizes he does believe it. Laurent would do it.

Ancel stares at him in disbelief. “Really,” he says flatly. “All the pets in all of Vere, and Laurent is willing to waste the country’s income on them.”

“King Damianos did it with the Akielon slaves.”

“It’s not _Damianos_ we’re talking about, here.”

“Well,” Nicaise laughs, “he and Laurent are such close _allies,_ we might as well be.”

For a moment, Ancel just stews in silence, taking in the information Nicaise has shared. Then he shakes his head. _“Damn_ them both,” he murmurs under his breath, resigned. “They’re changing everything.”

 _Yes,_ Nicaise thinks. _We are._

 

xi.

“Riding behind Laurent’s back again?” the stable boy says with a grin when Nicaise enters the stables alone.

Nicaise feels strangely insulted. “That’s King Laurent to you,” he says. “And I don’t need Laurent’s permission for _anything.”_

Wordlessly the boy brings out the mare Nicaise usually favors, named Nike. His fingers are rough, deft, fastening saddles and reins; and his gaze is warm— whether he’s looking at the horse or Nicaise. “My name’s Jacques,” he says, still with that roguish grin.

Nicaise leads Nike out of the stables and mounts her quickly. “What made you think I wanted to know?” A blush appears on Jacques’ cheeks. They're freckled. Nicaise kicks his heels lightly and smiles as Jacques jumps back to avoid Nike’s trotting legs. “I’m Nicaise.”

 

xii.

Nicaise is right, of course. Laurent does not _quite_ have the backing that will allow him to do away with pet contracts entirely. It just isn’t realistic. Thankfully, Laurent is patient.

But Laurent does decree that only men above eighteen years of age can be a pet; he lays out laws that protect pets from abuse; he raises their minimum wage. It’s quite a lot of money.

Quite a lot of masters are getting arrested for disobeying, too. Laurent implements his laws _very_ quickly.

It’s satisfying to watch.

 

xiii.

Once the entire affair of pets is completely out of the way, attending council meetings become more relaxed— for Nicaise, not for anyone else.

There are, even now, upheavals still: Both Vere and Akielos are not politically stable yet, and it takes its toll on everyone. There are common rebels and food shortages and political enemies— all the things that come in the first year of a new kingdom. The council is an angry mess of old, rich, too-powerful men shouting, on some days, whether it’s Makedon banging his goblet for silence or Laurent annihilating someone else with his words. On the worst days, Laurent stalks out of the council hall before anyone else, his face a mask, and Damen trails tiredly after him, one hand rubbing his face.

On the good days, Laurent accompanies him out of the council doors, and they walk together. “That was a good showing in front of the council today.”

Like they're talking about sports or something. Nicaise scoffs. “Of course it was.”

“Of course. In fact, I don’t think the Councillors will be spouting criticisms at either of us anytime soon.”

Despite himself, Nicaise is _pleased._ “What, you think I've impressed Herode yet?” Herode is turning into some sort of running joke between them now.

“You've certainly given him pause.”

“Well, Herode's easy to impress anyway.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. After all, he likes you well enough, and everyone knows you're—” Nicaise wrinkles his nose. “A reptile, or something.”

Laurent laughs. They’ve reached the east garden. “I don’t think you realize what a compliment that is,” the King says airily. Then, he reaches into his jacket pockets and pulls out a tiny box. “For you.”

It’s plain, but also the sort of box that likely held jewelry, wrapped in velvet. Nicaise feels his mouth tug down. For some (unthinkable) reason, jewelry always seems to mean something entirely different when it is bought and gifted to him, rather than something he bought for himself. It means: _Wear this, because I want to see you in it and know that I own you._  Nicaise opens it.

But it’s not an earring or a bracelet, which is what he expects— it’s that sort of box. No; it’s a ring, made from silver, thin and simple, with a stone lining the middle, blue and flecked with gold, when the light catches it just right. Nicaise’s breath hitches.

“It’s not sapphire, by the way,” Laurent says. “That’s lapis lazuli. For wisdom, they say.”

It looks nice. Elegant.

“A gift. Since you are fifteen now,” Laurent continues.

Oh. “You don’t _know_ when my birthday is,” Nicaise says. He doesn’t look up. The cold stone feels smooth when he brushes it with a finger.  _"I_ don’t know when exactly my birthday is.”

“Surely you’ve made guesses. I’m certain it’s at this time of year. Am I wrong?”

“Well, no,” Nicaise admits, and slides the ring on his finger, a faint smile curling his mouth.


End file.
